


Under Your Shield

by subjunctive



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Friendly Sparring, Gen, Post-Thor: The Dark World
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 03:56:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4207017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subjunctive/pseuds/subjunctive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sif might be tall, proud, and beautiful, but she is also terribly lonely. Natasha can relate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under Your Shield

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Glinda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glinda/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Shield Sisters](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/123042) by Glinda. 



When Thor returned to Earth, he brought someone else with him. There was something in his eyes that she hadn't seen before, even though they had only known each other briefly. Some kind of shadow, a darkness. Natasha didn't ask, though she could guess. But he had Jane, and when he spoke of the Dark Elves and the Aether he was satisfied with the outcome. Even though Natasha knew intimately herself that success didn't equal happiness, he seemed okay. At least he was getting there.

Sif, on the other hand.

Reading between the lines, her arrival sounded an awful lot like self-exile to Natasha's ears. She was at turns angry and guilty and worried, and it didn't take a therapist to see that it was all really directed at herself. A bomb waiting to explode. Natasha would keep an eye on her. You could never tell where the fallout would hit hardest.

She watched them spar sometimes, leaning against the wall as they circled each other. The only Avenger who could really go up against Asgardians was the Hulk, but of course that was out of the question. Steve could keep up for a while, and maybe Tony in the suit, but she and Clint were so outmatched it wasn't even funny.

Today they were doing hand-to-hand combat. It was Sif's suggestion, as it usually was. She seemed to itch for a good fight.

Thor laid his hammer next to the mat. They both had good form, Natasha noted, but good form was sometimes a hindrance more than a help. But Asgardian sparring was full of those little rituals of politeness and notions of honor – useless things when it came to a real fight. About as helpful as knowing how to fence with the little ball on the blade when you came up against a dragon. Sometimes you needed to fight dirty.

They circled each other for a minute, each feinting in turn. Thor was stronger, noted Natasha, but Sif was lighter on her feet. Sif struck first, quick and eager to get to the good part. Very practiced movements; they were familiar with each other and, she suspected, set in their ways. If Natasha was alive for a thousand more years, she might get a little comfortable too.

She wasn't the only one who noticed it. When after a few minutes Sif got her arm in a bar across Thor's throat, teeth bared in what might be a grimace or a smile, she only said, "You still fall for that more often than not."

"You sound like Loki," said Thor, sounding amused despite the restriction to his airway, and both of their faces tightened as they remembered.

"Do you yield?" said Sif shortly, and Thor did.

She wasn't satisfied with her victory, however, prowling around the room after Thor had left like a caged animal eager for space.

"Something on your mind?" called Natasha from her position against the wall.

Sif's long ponytail jerked; she had forgotten she wasn't alone. The look that passed over her face was guilty and furtive. "No, no." Still she paced.

"You seem pretty unhappy," said Natasha placidly. "Wanna talk about it?"

Sif's hair swung from side to side, long and lush. "It's merely this city and this air and the lack of space -" She stopped suddenly.

"You can insult New York," said Natasha with amusement. "I won't mind."

"It's not honorable to insult hospitality," she muttered. Her boots shifted against the mat. Still itching.

"Want to go a round?"

"I don't think that would be wise. Do you?"

Natasha shrugged. "I can handle myself."

"I'm sure you can," said Sif with a blend of arrogance and generosity. "You are a formidable opponent on the battlefield. I've heard you have an interesting tale to tell about how you came to be there as well."

"If Thor can have sex with Jane, you can probably figure out how to spar with humans."

At the mention of her friend's sex life Sif looked like she had swallowed a lemon. "I prefer not to think about it."

"Fair enough." Natasha paused, deciding which buttons to push. "Unless you're afraid of losing?"

"I'm not a child who can be goaded," snapped Sif, though she sure looked goaded.

Natasha smiled. "We could make it more interesting. Let's say – loser has to tell a story?"

"A battle? A quest? Anything?"

"Anything. Winner's choice." The chances were high that Natasha would lose and her little gamble wouldn't pay off, but the potential payoff was worth the risk.

Sif bobbed on the balls of her feet, clearly intrigued. "Very well. I will take your wager, Natasha. On my honor, if you win, you shall have my story."

She stepped onto the mat, measuring her pace to look completely relaxed. "Are you ready?"

"I would rather ask the opposite. Some say it is folly to step in the ring with a warrior from Asgard." Sif bared her teeth in that grin again. She really didn't think she _could_ lose. That was to Natasha's advantage.

Natasha fell into an easy stance. "Ready when you are."

As predicted, Sif took it easy on her. As they circled Natasha kept in mind what she had learned from watching earlier. There was a predictability to their moves, to their style, more of an art than anything else. They were so strong it didn't matter.

For Natasha, fighting wasn't art. It was survival.

Her moment came ten minutes in. Neither of them were so much as sweating. Natasha had dodged everything Sif threw at her, partly because Sif made it easy on purpose and partly because, despite being stronger, Asgardians reflexes weren't any faster. It wasn't enough for Natasha to just find an opening: there were still things she wouldn't be capable of doing physically to someone of Sif's density and strength. She had to find the right combination of force and balance and timing too.

She swept Sif finally at exactly the right moment when she was transitioning from one foot to the other. From there it wasn't too hard to take advantage of her surprise and get her in a hold that didn't allow her to use her superior strength against Natasha.

"I underestimated you," said Sif finally, after a minute of harsh panting and twisting.

Natasha remembered Loki. Not so unusual among his own people, then. "Lots of people do. Now, my payment."

"It's hard to tell a tale rightly like this. Perhaps if we . . ."

She pulled the arm bar a little tighter. "That's okay. I don't need all the bells and whistles, and you can save the mead too."

"What tale do you wish to hear?" Sif's voice was guarded but unsuspecting.

"I want to know why you came here."

What was visible of Sif's face tightened. "I came to accompany and protect my prince."

"I asked for a story, remember?" Natasha's voice dropped in Sif's ear. "On your honor, you said."

There was a long, wretched silence. Sif's voice was cold and tight when she finally said, "The queen died. I failed to protect her. I left. _There_ ," she spat, overcome, "is that the tale you wanted to hear?"

So, she was here for guilt and penance. Sif might be tall, proud, and beautiful, but she was also terribly lonely. Natasha could relate.

"It is. Thank you." Natasha disentangled herself and stood, meaning it. "You understand."

Sif ignored her outstretched hand and picked herself up, dusting off something imaginary. "I suppose you are watching out for your people." Her voice was grudging.

"You could be one of them," said Natasha on impulse, then added at Sif's startled look, "if you tried, I mean."

Some of the fight went out of her, but she still held herself at a distance. "Midgard is very strange. Though . . ." She paused. "I confess, it is nice to fight alongside a woman for once."

"I can arrange more of that," said Natasha, watching for the slight upturn of Sif's lips.

"I would like that."

"Have you ever had shawarma?"

This time, when Natasha offered her arm, Sif took it.


End file.
